Best Refilled Poems
Last winter, I refilled my blackened quill with
a dose of your sensual sonnets,
allowing your soothing voice to be the maestro
of moaning moonlight,
reawakening a cathartic infatuation.
Drunk on symphonies that you’ve orchestrated,
a throbbing thirst instills
tantalizing tercets into my trembling veins.
I submissively let every ounce of my skin
be stroked by your titillating tongue,
tracing the milky quartz trails of
goosebumps you’ve ignited,
leaving me intoxicated in your
mellifluous world of poetic pulses,
where your honey-dipped fingers strum
the script of my love-struck soul.
Awakening fervent fireflies to flutter,
flickering luscious sparks,
while cocooned in electric feathers,
caressing the internal warmth
of wildfire whispers.
Yet, there is something about
the way the skies burst euphoric writings
on your untold rivers~
never revealed, forever lost
in the silence of sultry suppression~
luring me to follow the magnetic rhythm
of your restless roseate runes.
I will someday kiss you into written poetry,
when I take a breath
to climax as couplets intertwined,
screaming caffeinated stars in hypnotic cadence.
The seeds of your love
will illuminate pining petals,
pressed between velvety sheets
of lunar-glazed pillows,
and the cinnamon sun of a sage dawn,
awaiting drizzling diamonds
with sinful secrets etched from sweat and tears,
teasing the melted twilight
that flows behind periwinkle prose.
So place me on your empty canvas
of nocturnal stanzas.
Paint me with tender rhymes,
flowing like fluorescent ink,
bleeding from your aesthetic baton,
so effortlessly,
forever aligned as soulmates,
tied to the gossamer tunes of timeless harmony.
trijan refrain
The heart half full means something’s wrong -
the Spirit’s oil runs low.
When emptied, broken, we are strong
refilled, and ready so -
God’s strength can fix a heart gone dull
our selfish contents He can cull.
God’s strength restores
God’s strength restores
each day to keep our mark on full.
The heart half full means needs may go
unmet by God’s own grace.
We’re called to let our fellows know
that they can win this race.
God’s Word abounds with help each day,
it must be read to find the Way.
God’s Word abounds
God’s Word abounds
to fill the empty hearts who stray.
The heart half full calls us to prayer,
it’s time to take a break.
Engaged with work, no time to spare
another’s thirst to slake?
God’s love pours forth when we look up
and ask for wisdom in our cup.
God’s love pours forth
God’s love pours forth
enough to share, our neighbors sup.
posted September 19, 2014
**I realize this is a combination of iambic verse in tetrameter, trimeter, and dimeter but that is the requirement for a trijan refrain, a variable line length. If it does not meet the rules of your contest, I will understand.
There was a time.
There was a time
When your fabled dreams
Seemed honest
A time when
Your open arms
Coated in dented silver and tainted dreams
Understood my Size 12 shoes
When the world seemed to be against you
Yet, still,
Your blunt eloquence welcomed me home
Then, your “rainbow”…
…shat
t
er
ed
Your heartbeat became an arrhythmia of petulant theatrics.
Your topaz coated spit
Released from refilled white-out bottles,
Brushing away quartered moons of an iridescent shame
A copycat of robotic muses
Infringing upon your pedestal,
Turned loud mouth, afflicting broken tongue
The “Stalin” of a messenger’s wit,
You raised your voice to a poignant sky!!!
And, as if Yahweh cured your muted disorders,
EVERYBODY HEARD YOU!!!
Including me
That was your goal…
…excluding me
From incipient edge, I witnessed you,
A turpentine puddle in front of a confessional booth
On a melancholic Thursday morn,
With ripened glares to avoid your hallways
Tangled, dangling pacifiers as your doorbell
...
There will come a time.
There will come a time
When social feeds will deprive your vexing smile
Of validation
Where ignorant heartbeats will awaken
Through lyrical epiphanies
To see your “rainbow”
As a faded, stolen crayon
Where flirtatious dialect from withered accomplice
Licks cubic zirconium’s aftertaste
Forgetting that karma doesn’t tolerate one-night stands
For me, that time is now.
Then, I knew who you were.
Now, I know who you are.
You are not what you say.
A false advertisement in Sunday’s illiterate paper…
…with erased verbatim amongst your mirrored peers
Remembering how you falsified truth’s smile
Dire requests for empathetic warmth of our yesterdays
Yet, my Agnostic coat could never be thick enough
For your saturated, dual face
©Drake J. Eszes
They call me Brave Heart
Not because of my courage but because it is my last name
And not because I "like" Mel Gibson that much but because it is
how I was raised.
Half black and native girl raised on the Reservation
With the beautiful people of The Oglala Lakota Nation.
Two times their tone
as a dark girl among Natives I was taught to hold my own.
You see it is the two worlds that brought me light
And it is my last name that gives me the strength to fight.
They call me Brave Heart
Like the beat of a drum
And the hold of a knot, my destiny cannot be undone.
High centered in between
A mixture of African decent and Indigenous being.
I see the greater picture
And I write the words to my own scripture.
I feel the power of my ancestors blood through my veins
And I scream out their existence in my last name. LILILILILILI
I was shackled and beaten as my African mothers
And I share in the pain of the slave trade with my sisters and brothers
Our truths will prevail through HIStory,
And we will restore our Ancestors glory.
They call me Brave Heart
But my skin and biracial split aren't what separate me from the rest
I just know that born into this life I am blessed
I am grateful for those who fought for me and our bloodline to pull through
And I am here today to fight for them too.
You cannot defeat those who are not afraid to die,
And you cannot fool those who see through lies.
Although we were hit with everything from slavery to genocide
they could still never kill Our Native and Black pride.
We know exactly who we are
Because the blood in us proves our ancestors pushed us far.
It is not over for us
We have refilled our cup,
So no matter how much you knock us down we will
Stand back up.
They call us Brave Hearts.
Akiza - a war cry used to celebrate the spirit of our ancestors and their fight- LILILILILI
If ever I had two hours with you… or three,
the vacancy of this night and lulled
shores would be refilled with the gushing
of frosted air on our reveries past;
the multitude of amiable stars bestowing
a hush of surrender... raged midnights ending
into fresh mornings backed by our
theme song replayed.
Then, to recall the sevens and nines of time
cutting our names into crumpled paper: a departure
of hearts traveling in different territories.
We inched away,
not because of lack for vows marked in deepest
sands. But… by fate’s desire to shelter you in
a faraway place, while I... I burned skies
through the pain and beauty
the long distance of regrets had claimed.
If and when we unite again, two or three hours
by God's grace, oh the fluttering of a thousand
fearless thoughts would not be enough to say you were
the branch that got away, and I was your last rose
that lost its stem.
Perhaps, now is the moment to clutch the moment?
Regina Riddle's Seize The Day ( Carpe Diem)
10/26/2014
[Songs Inspired two line haiku
The first line is the name of a song]
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
[Foreigner]
waiting for a girl like you -
the wild flower by the gate
[Phil Collins]
another day in paradise -
my love chalice filled and refilled
[The Beatles]
here comes the sun -
furtively she draws the curtain to my heart
[Creedence Clearwater Revival]
have you ever seen the rain?
I was blind to unspoken love
[Simon & Garfunkel]
the sound of silence -
we dance to the rhythm of our hearts
[Lady Antebellum]
need you now -
the rose petals keep falling…down
[A Rocket to the Moon]
baby blue eyes -
heaven reflected in the swell of the sea
[Mary Hopkin]
those were the days
…and then your hand slipped out of mine
[Sting]
fields of gold -
the setting sun ripples on water
[Ronan Keating]
when you say nothing at all -
searching for reassurance in your eyes
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
© May 2022
She slipped into the single’s club,
where an assortment
of horny guys and lonely hearts had assembled.
Some were there hoping to find that "special" someone
and some had come to chase away the blues,
tinkling ice in cocktail glasses soon to be refilled.
Others, who might be labeled commitment phobic,
had simply come to case the place for an easy lay.
Swinging svelte, mini-skirted hips lasciviously,
she strutted over to the counter
on legs that looked their longest and most shapely
from being hoisted on high red heels.
Every pair of eyes was trained on her.
Some in the club gawked
with eyes that hid beneath mascara-painted lashes, flitting envy.
Others leered with pupils dilating lust
from ogling the two soft protrusions in her tight white turtleneck.
Then with pink champagne in hand,
the goddess turned and surveyed her audience,
most of whom by now had looked away.
One remained, mesmerized, with eyes riveted on her.
He quivered when she caught his gaze
and strolled over to where he sat.
As she approached, he marveled at her face -
the chiseled cheekbones strong and high,
the dark eyes, luminescent and immense,
and curiously, an upturned nose so delicate
it seemed almost too perfect,
like one acquired from a sculptor’s hands.
He gulped when she asked him for a dance,
and as he asked this intriguing lady’s name,
he wondered at the timbre of her voice,
so provocative and low as she tossed dark brown locks
and said seductively,
“My name is Lola. L-O-L-A , Lola.”
Inspired by an old song from the 70's and
used now for Skat's the Premiere Contest number 10 Poetry Contest
,,,,,,,,,,~.~.~.~,,,,,,,,,,,
if ever i had two hours with you… or three,
the vacancy of this quaint café and barren
shores would be refilled with the pouring
of pink- frosted air on our glass-window’s past;
the multitude of disheveled suns ripping
arms of surrender; raged midnights ending
into carmine mornings; swallowed inches of stars
turning into lyrics replayed. and what splendor to
infect the whiteness or redness of seasons’
fingers wearing the pains and gains of many
a porcelain days. then,
to recall the sevens and nines of time’s scalpel
cutting our names into crumpled paper: a departure
of hearts traveling in different territories.
we inched away,
not because of lack for vows marked in deepest
sands. but… by fate’s desire to cart you in
a faraway land, while i.. i burned telephone lines
hiding beneath the long distance of regrets…
yearning for your comeback instead
of stamped letters thousands of miles so
removed from alleys where our arms used to walk,
we side-tracked along with stooping songs
that gently genuflected…
if and when we meet again, two or three hours
by time's grace, oh the fluttering of a thousand
thoughts would not be enough to say you were
the trunk that got away, and i was your last rose
that lost its stem.
all rights reserved
©
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
love lost from long distance relationship
For Frank Herrera's Contest
By: nette onclaud
"The budget should be balanced, the Treasury should be refilled, public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and the assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People must again learn to work instead of living on public assistance." Cicero , 55 BC
controversy over government nothing new
Civil War? oxymoron
in a country divided, there is no civility
protestors fume on Wall Street
Tea Partiers toss their caffeine into the mix
Federal Reserve makes unauthorized loans
but to whom we do not know
states debate seceding from the union
families learn to live on budgets
countries spend what they don’t have
why don’t we learn from history?
“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s”
is there anything left for us?
look to Cicero and sages of the past
Plato and Socrates will set the disenfranchised straight too
*Entry for Brian’s “Anywhichway” contest
He walked along the barbs of life
Slowly what had filled him
Drained away
Seeped out upon the ground
Hollowed him
Dried him out
Turned his heart to dust
He looked the same
The shell remained
The carefully manicured facade
Then came the winds
The winds of change
Blowing him away
Or possibly towards
His reconstitution
Hollow man
Refilled
Redefined
Heart pumping
Excited
Dreaming
Laughing and crying
A spirit now flying
Insides no longer dying
Inside filled to overflowing
Muck had been released
Inside white as fleece
Sometimes what's inside
Needs to be washed away
An empty cup can be refilled
Purified
Electrified
Freed from false pride
Heart freed when love is applied
Opened with nothing to hide
Living once again
Enjoying the ride.
Hollow man
Is now okay
Not empty like yesterday
I fear one day I'll have nothing to say
The pen that I hold it has no more ink
The well spring of ideas drained away
My lips will be parched I will long to drink
A blank page before me eyes filled with tears
The pen that I hold it has no more ink
I guess we all worry we have our fears
More than one way to look at what I see
A blank page before me eyes filled with tears
I can be refilled if I am empty
I may need to be quiet for a while
More than one way to look at what I see
A stack of poems on my desk in a pile
All the thoughts that have occupied my mind
I may need to be quiet for a while
My own voice blocked out now what will I find
I fear one day I will have nothing to say
All the thoughts that have occupied my mind
The well spring of ideas drained away
Waiting in the Maybe For My Aunt, Billie Marie Zal
Maybe I Am
singing Singing a tune.
Maybe I Am
Somewhere singing like a loon.
Maybe I Am
Somewhere Walking in the dark.
Maybe I Am
just waiting for The day to start.
Maybe I Am
saving for a rainy day.
Maybe I Am
just having my say.
Maybe you should be rocking
not sitting still.
Maybe you should sing
like the whippoorwill.
Maybe I Am
giving back the dime.
Maybe I Am
taking back My time.
Maybe the need
needs to be refilled.
Maybe the need
needs to be still.
Maybe changing places
keeping time.
Maybe you will get the Answer
in the nick of time.
When waiting in the Maybe
there is no I in Me.
Daniel Taylor
Montagues & Capulets
The trouble
with me
is you
The trouble
with you
is us
The trouble
with us
is them
The trouble
with them
— is me
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
The Inkwell
Arrogant enough
to believe in his words
begging to be heard
Committed enough
to run from the crowd
couplets crying loud
Living each phrase
in debt to each thought
the moment duly caught
His pen is refilled
the inkwell unmired
— new verses to aspire
(The New Room: February, 2026)
Indentured
Beyond
the critics
Beyond
the pundits
Beyond
agenda
— beyond the hype
A poet
lives
Without
pretension
Indentured
to the truth
— and light
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Cracks Of Wonder
Some situations
embraced by instinct
When reason is powerless
to explain
All words fall useless
in cracks of wonder
Where prescience waits
— our hearts to claim
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Where Fortune Smiles
You get one chance
to make it right
to capture sound
and bottle sight
One chance alone
is all you’re willed
to box the moment
time distilled
You get one chance
to make your mark
to chase the demon
from the dark
One chance alone
if fortune smiles
to etch your name
— where memory files
(The New Room: February, 2026)
Kerouac Calls
Hitchhiking
my way
into
tomorrow
My thumb
in the present
My heart
— in the wind
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Everyone has to stand
Either side of the belt
In two big lines.
Line managers fill
Reserve boxes full of nuts.
Then comes the chocolate.
A column of chocolate.
We have to stand and
Watch out for the frays in the belt.
We must stay in our lines
And trust the boxes have been refilled
With nuts.
Unending boxes full of nuts,
An unending formation of chocolate
Coming closer to where we stand.
Moving hands ahead blur the belt,
Quick and steady hands keeping in line.
Already the boxes look less full.
The bosses in blue hairnets refill
The boxes full to the top of nuts.
They oversee the decoration of chocolate.
Every day and they do this by sitting
By the boxes on the side of the belt,
Chatting, or milking power out of nuts.
And it’s us on the line
Who get the blame when the boxes are empty,
And chocolate goes by without being nutted,
And they have to chuck away trays of chocolate,
We’re sweating from their shouting but we stand;
We keep our places by the belt.
Our place is by the belt.
Either side of the line.
We do not wait for the nuts to be refilled.
If necessary we will take them from our friends
We think only of the chocolate.
For as long as it takes, we stand.
I went into the greenhouse to water the plants and flowers
It is my little haven I could stay there for hours and hours
The watering can was heavy with the precious rain
It has been very sunny so I was watering the plants again.
I watered the beans and peas, the tomato plants growing tall
I refilled the watering can; there wasn’t enough to do them all
Moved on to water the melons and the flowering courgette
When underneath the foliage something moved when it got wet
A black and brown toad leap up at me; I thought it was a dream
I dropped the watering can with fright and gave a little scream
Think the toad was pretty shocked at his impromptu shower
So I’ve left him to and hop back and hide under a gerbera flower
Jan Allison
23rd June 2014